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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26098591">bitter choco decoration</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaygoroakechi/pseuds/gaygoroakechi'>gaygoroakechi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Persona 5, Persona Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ED side effect talk, Eating Disorders, Gen, Mentions of passing out, anorexia (implied), death mentions, goro is very mentally ill, however many words of me venting by writing, i wrote this at 12am again, no dialogue OR beta we die like men, slight gory thoughts, vent fic, very unhealthy, vomiting mentions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:16:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>548</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26098591</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaygoroakechi/pseuds/gaygoroakechi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Goro is pretty unhealthy, objectively speaking.</p>
<p>DO NOT read this if you are in recovery, are triggered by eating disorders and mentions/thoughts of gore. This is a short vent fic.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>bitter choco decoration</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Akechi was hungry. He was fucking starving. The very thought of food, of willingly stuffing shit down his gullet, however, made him want to puke his guts out. That would be a sorry sight, wouldn't it…? The idea of his pink, clean organs with no fat, no swill weighing him down made him feel euphoric. </p>
<p>He was disgusting. Fat, and vile. He didn't deserve to eat, not what with all he had done and taken. He'd taken the lives of others. He'd taken people's sanities.  How could he gorge himself as their bodies rotted, putrifying with the stench of blood and pus? </p>
<p>The paranoia was relentless, too. Akechi would look away in one direction and shadows flitted at the corner of his vision - he swore he heard footsteps behind him. He was being watched, he knew it. It made his skin crawl, as if roaches were skittering up his back.</p>
<p>Everyone hated him, he knew. The glares and whispers burned into his back like a hot iron. He knew he was unwanted; it was a fact that had followed him his entire life. Every step, every bite, every breath he took, every single thing he had done was at the expense of another. Especially his mother. </p>
<p>Akechi practically ran on spite, even if his head throbbed so hard he felt like he would black out, even if his stomach growled so loudly it caused others to turn in his direction. He had to win. He had to succeed. Even if it meant sacrificing himself. Especially if it meant sacrificing himself.</p>
<p>Akechi didn't deserve or fucking want pity. Their looks, oh-so pleading, were foul and ugly in his eyes. Their pity was worthless, and it was shameful. It made him feel like trash, as if he was begging for their approval like a dog. </p>
<p>Sometimes he passed out, banging his head along the linoleum of the office, wherein he  woke up cold and stiff. The shivers wracked his body, forcing him to double over and wear layers, even in blazing midsummer heat. His once-luscious hair was scraggly and he had to order hair extensions. His nails were blue, and hands bony.</p>
<p>He was dying. He knew damn well he was slowly killing himself. It was better this way, at least, to end up dead from heart failure than hanging himself or being shot by some criminal trash living in an attic like a parasite.</p>
<p>Nothing fucking mattered anymore. His every thought was about food. Food was the reason he got up in the morning, forced himself to fast for days on end, the reason he found himself retching up his forced lunch in the stalls of his school. He was alone, isolated apart from his pretty little TV appearances. He was a walking corpse, half-alive, not quite ready to be tucked away in a casket six feet under.</p>
<p>He had to do this. He had to succeed. Become ethereal, fleeting. He had to drown himself in his own insecurities to be victorious. He had power over this. This was the one thing he could control, after all. Everything else was merely an afterthought. </p>
<p>Bitterly, Akechi clenched his stomach and looked over the pale blue sky streaked with fire. Today was another day, and he had to fulfill his goal.</p>
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